


Captain Watson's mistake

by Tipofmytongue



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Comfort Sex, Eventual Happy Ending, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Graphic Description, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Love, M/M, Oral Sex, POV Third Person, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Content, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 09:15:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4342790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tipofmytongue/pseuds/Tipofmytongue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock struggles to keep his fantasies to himself when he is forced to do the kidnapper's sexual biddings.</p>
<p>“You want to die for your friend, then?”<br/>“I’ve done it before, and I’ll do it again. Come on. Blow my brains out. I hear my brain is a rather magnificent one.”<br/>“Sherlock, don’t. It’s all right.” Sherlock heard John say desperately from his side of the bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Captain Watson's mistake

Sherlock opened his eyes. His vision was blurry and he had a slight headache. As his eyes began to focus he looked around and saw that he was in a sterile room with dark walls and only dimly lit by a couple of large candles in the corner. He was lying in a bed, and could smell the familiar scent of John next to him. What the hell had happened last night? Where were they? He remembered the two of them had gone to a tiny lugubrious pub in a dark alley outside of London to follow up on a lead regarding their latest case of a missing person named Andiel Rosim. They’d sat down on a table after having ordered two beers as a simple cover. After that Sherlock couldn’t remember a single thing.  
He looked over at John who was still cold turkey. As Sherlock leaned over and tried to wake him, he noticed that both their legs and arms were bound by ropes. He tried to loosen himself, but the ropes were tight. With this new piece of information his head started drifting back to his deductive self: Someone must have sedated them last night.  
“John.”  
John stirred.  
“John!”  
John stirred again.  
“John, wake up!”  
This time John made his usual annoyed waking up sound, and Sherlock gave him a moment to reconcile, before he addressed him again.  
“John?”  
John turned around and he, too, was startled by the fact that he was tied up.  
“What the - ?! Sherlock, what the hell is this?”  
“I don’t know.”  
“Don’t trick me, this is one of your fucked up experiments.”  
“Nope.” Sherlock said casually, and he realised he sounded as if the whole situation bored him. He knew that he should be more on the edge about this strange situation. Someone obviously wanted to hurt them. But the fact that he was lying here, in a large bed, side by side with John, made his heart beat mysteriously fast. He’d been picturing himself in bed with John several times over the past few years, so often that the daydreaming had become a regular part of his daily visits to his mind palace. He’d reserved a whole area for John, places in which they would finally kiss each other, touch each other, sleep with each other, love each other. And here they were, tied up in a bed together as if caught in a bondage sex dream, although fully clothed.  
“Sherlock? Did you hear me?”  
“Wha – what?” Sherlock realised he’d wandered too far into the John room in his mind palace that he’d forgotten about the real John next to him. In bed.  
“I asked you were we are!” John said in a slightly more anxious tone than when he woke up.  
“Oh. I have no idea. None whatsoever.”  
“You always know.”  
“Nope.” Sherlock said casually again.  
John turned towards Sherlock, as far as the ropes allowed him, and tried to reach the rope around Sherlock’s left wrist, but with only one hand it was impossible to untie it.  
“Hell, what do we do, Sherlock?” he asked after the failed attempt and turned onto his back again. Sherlock could tell that he was clearly uncomfortable.  
“I guess we’ll have to wait.”  
“Wait?”  
“For someone to come.”  
And just as the words left his mouth, a door in the opposite corner of the candles opened, and a man entered. He was quite tiny, perhaps the same size as John, and the flickering candle light presented some of his features; a man in his late thirties, scarred face, former soldier, but no signs of recent performed duty.  
“You must be the lucky Sherlock Holmes.” the man said and put his eyes upon Sherlock’s.  
“I wouldn’t consider myself lucky, being tied up by a stranger in a bed that smells like old semen and mould, but we all have different preferences.” Sherlock replied dully.  
“But you are lucky. You are lucky indeed. And I’ll let you know just how lucky you are. Or what to you think, Captain Watson?”  
Both Sherlock became much more aware at the uttered words addressing John’s former occupation as a soldier. John, however, spoke before Sherlock had a chance.  
“Sergeant… Sergeant Morris?”  
“Yes, Captain. At your service. Or is it suddenly the other way around?”  
John looked down at his tied up body, and Sherlock noticed that a shiver went through it.  
“John, what’s going on?” Sherlock whispered, but not silent enough, because the sergeant answered.”  
“Captain Watson led my platoon in Helmand. We know one another.”  
“Is that so?”  
“Yes, it is. And now we’re here.”  
“Indeed we are. Your first name, sergeant Morris, it wouldn’t happen to be Daniel, now would it?” Sherlock asked. Both John and Morris looked at him puzzled.  
“How do you know?” Morris asked angrily.  
“Andiel Rosim. It’s just a cover to make a case that would catch our attention. You’ve fabricated some made-up-man’s disappearance, because you knew that the police would consult with us. And you’ve done so because you, likely for some mad reason, want to hurt Dr. Watson, I’m sorry, Captain Watson.”  
“You’re as good as they say. But I still don’t think you know how lucky you are.”  
“Well, why don’t you tell me how lucky I am, then?” Sherlock replied, eyes narrowing.  
“I was just about to.” Sergeant Morris answered and withdrew a gun from his inner pocket. Sherlock could hear John swallow, and this made him a bit weary. If John was scared it meant that the man in front of them was capable of serious wrongdoing, and if he was an untreated soldier, he might be unstable.  
“Now. Mr. Holmes. Captain Watson.” Morris said, gun pointing at the two of them. “I’m going to untie you. If you make any resistance you will be shot. Are we clear?”  
They didn’t reply; just let Morris do his work. Being untied was far better than being tied up after all. When Sherlock was loosened, Morris spoke to him.  
“Now. Sit still in your corner of the bed while I undo Captain Watson.”  
Sherlock did as he said, but when Morris approached John he took out a knife.  
“NO!” Sherlock was quick on his feet, but Morris’ reaction was fast as well, and he pointed both the gun and the knife in Sherlock’s direction.  
“I said. Sit still in your corner. I’m not going to hurt him. I swear.”  
Sherlock could see that John was breathing heavily.  
“Then what do you need the knife for?”  
“You’ll see. Now sit down, or I’ll shoot Captain Watson’s leg, and then he’ll have a limp that can’t be fixed with antidepressants, all right?”  
Sherlock stood still for a moment, looked down at John who nodded, a nod, which made Sherlock feel like it was safe to withdraw. But for the first time this night, day, evening, whatever it was, he felt scared.  
“And you keep your mouths shut.”  
Morris went back to his project, and as he once again held the knife towards John, Sherlock felt his heart beating, but then Morris started cutting off John’s clothes. He started with his shirt, the left arm, and then the right arm. He tossed the cut off pieces onto the floor and continued with the white t-shirt underneath. As Sherlock watched he felt a tiny tickle in his stomach. What was going on? After the t-shirt was cut open, John’s bare torso, oh god, sexy torso, Sherlock thought, was exposed. Morris then moved on to the jeans, and after a while the legs were ripped open and the zipper undone. As Morris tossed the pieces away he turned and looked at Sherlock, who was completely stunned by what was happening.  
“You know what’s coming next, don’t you?” Morris said with a rusty voice. Sherlock knew far too well, and at the mere thought of it he felt every single blood cell in his body rush to the area between his legs. He closed his eyes and tried hard not to let this happen, not when John was lying almost naked, tied up and exposed in front of him. A tied up John, god, that’s hot. No. Sherlock reopened his eyes, and at this point, Morris had removed the underpants as well, and Sherlock couldn’t take his eyes off the gorgeous core of John’s manhood. This made him more aroused than he’d ever been before. He didn’t know how long he kept staring, but when he noticed a movement from John he tore his eyes away and placed them upon John’s face. He looked embarrassed on a level Sherlock had never seen him before. Not even that time when Irene Adler had been naked in front of him.  
“Now. Mr. Holmes. Please take off your trousers.” Morris said, gun pointing at Sherlock. Sherlock hesitated, because he knew what this action would reveal, and John would probably never forgive him. Never forgive him for being turned on by John’s humiliation. Still, with a gun to his head, Sherlock had no choice but to obey, and he started unzipping his trousers. Morris spoke as Sherlock undressed.  
“So, what I want you to do now, Mr. Holmes … -“ Morris said, but stopped himself as he took a glance at Sherlock’s more than visible erection, even through his black underpants in this dimly lit room.  
“Wow, apparently we’re on the same page, Mr. Holmes. As I said, what I want, and clearly what you want as well, is for you too fuck Captain Watson like there’s no tomorrow. Take off your underpants. Leave the shirt on.” As Sherlock closed his eyes he could hear John moan in agony; several quiet, resigned “no’s”. This was not how Sherlock had daydreamed about their eventual sexual encounter. He’d pictured sentiment. Love. Consent. This was practically rape. He couldn’t do it, no matter how much his subconscious may want to. This was wrong.  
“No. I won’t.”  
“Are we looking at the same erection, Mr. Holmes?” Morris said and swiped his eyes down on Sherlock’s underpants.  
“What I want is quite insignificant in this case.” Sherlock said.  
“Yes. You’re absolutely right. It’s what I want that is significant. You’ve just made this project so much easier. I was planning for you to use objects, but you’ve got a quite nice and sizeable object yourself right here. Now. I’m sick of joking around, strip as I instructed, or I’ll blow your brains out.”  
“Fine. Go ahead.” Sherlock said. He wasn’t going to let this happen.  
“You want to die for your friend, then?”  
“I’ve done it before, and I’ll do it again. Come on. Blow my brains out. I hear my brain is a rather magnificent one.”  
“Sherlock, don’t. It’s all right.” Sherlock heard John say desperately from his side of the bed. “Please, Sherlock. It’s all right. It’s okay.”  
“John…”  
“Wow, aren’t you two lovebirds a touching couple? What you’re willing to do for one another, huh?” Morris said, cutting off Sherlock before Sherlock had a chance to respond to or comfort John.  
“John…” Sherlock tried again, but was cut off once more.  
“Now, do what I’ve told you, and hurry!”  
Morris pointed the gun at John, which gave Sherlock no choice. Sherlock undressed and let out his still towering erection, and moved over to John.  
“Do you have any lubricant?” Sherlock asked, looking down at his tied up best friend, the man he loved and had wanted to make love to for ages. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He tried saying this with his eyes, but John had turned his head towards the wall.  
“Lubricant? Didn’t pick you for the funny type, Mr. Holmes. Come on. Fuck him. And do it within the next minute. Rough. Really rough. And if you fail at either, I’ll kill one of you, whoever disappoints me the most.”  
With these words Morris moved next to the candles, where he sat down in an almost invisible chair, gun still pointing at John and Sherlock.  
“Begin.”  
Sherlock placed his penis at John’s body entrance, and even though he hated this, excitement was bubbling in him, like champagne. He pressed John’s legs up against his stomach and kept his hands there.  
“I’m sorry, John.” he said and then pushed himself violently into John’s tight, oh god, so hot, warm and sexy, arsehole. John screamed in pain, but Sherlock knew that he had to continue. He cursed himself for being so very well equipped that John was hurting, but he knew that the pain would eventually stop, and he was determined to make this feel okay for John too. After a while, during which John had let out several screams, Sherlock felt John’s inside grow softer and wetter, and he knew that the pain had subsided. And, God help him, this felt so immensely good. He felt like he was going to burst from the sensation alone, and for the first time during the act he dared open his eyes. John was still lying with his face turned against the wall, and Sherlock saw a tiny tear emerge from his eye. This made Sherlock’s insides feel like they were being ripped apart by scissors. He didn’t want to be the reason for John’s pain and humiliation. He bent down, turned John’s face with one of his hands, the other keeping him steady and still pushing in and out of John in the required intensity.  
“Hey.” Sherlock whispered, and their eyes connected. Sherlock loved those beautiful eyes. He only wished they wouldn’t look so infected with agony. He didn’t dare speak any more, but lowered his mouth and placed his lips upon John’s in a soft kiss, with which he tried to speak that he wasn’t going to let anything happen to John. To his astonishment, John returned the kiss and they kept on kissing for a whole minute. Then Sherlock felt something hard bounce at his stomach, and then he realised that John was hard too. Thank God, Sherlock thought, moved away from John and placed his hand on the growing erection underneath him. In the same pace as he fucked John he moved his hand up and down John’s penis shaft and after a surprisingly short while he felt his orgasm build up. When John was onboard, at least in the given circumstances, everything felt ten times better. The power of the orgasm was so enormous that Sherlock couldn’t hold back even for a second. It flushed over him like a tide wave and he felt his whole body shaking. As he stopped moving to empty himself into John, he felt the arsehole tighten and spasm around him, and understood that John was having an orgasm as well. This made Sherlock come so hard that he blacked out for a second or two, and when he came to himself after what seemed like light years, he collapsed onto John with all his weight.  
Before he had a chance to recover, however, Daniel Morris dragged him up by his hair and tied him up again. Sherlock was so knocked out by the power of the orgasm, that he didn’t have a chance to fight back.  
“Nicely done, Mr. Holmes. You see how lucky you are? Now, I will have to punish you tomorrow though, because you weren’t supposed to make this enjoyable for Captain Watson, but he sure seemed to like it, didn’t he? I have a much nicer treat for him tomorrow. Just wait. Good night, love birds.” Morris said wickedly before he left the room and closed the door. Sherlock lay staring at the ceiling trying to regain his normal breath. After a minute and four seconds he felt he could speak normally again.  
“John?” he said and turned over to his side so that he could face his best friend, who was lying with his face and body half facing away. John didn’t reply.  
“John? Please. I’m so deeply sorry. I’m so sorry.”  
“No.”  
“No? What do you mean? You don’t think that I’m sorry for… for this?”  
Sherlock heard a sniff.  
“I both saw and felt how your reaction to this was.” John said. Sherlock knew this would be addressed, but he wasn’t ready to handle it just yet. He chose words he’d used before, when he thought he was leaving John forever back in the hangar.  
“John, there’s something I should tell you. … Even I have urges, and this was simply an adrenaline-provoked reaction to the situation.”  
“Fuck you, Sherlock.”  
Sherlock truly hated this. His dream of having sex with John Watson had turned into a nightmare. He’d envisioned John’s caressing fingers, small talk, laughter and chitchat. Not this. John had never spoken to him this way, no matter how mad he’d made him. Sherlock had to save the situation, but he wasn’t ready to tell John the truth. Admitting his feelings was the same as opening his heart for the first time, and 39 years of boiled up sentiment would come flowing out uncontrollably. He couldn’t risk that, not when John was like this. Probably not ever.  
“John. As much as you probably hate that I’m lying here next to you, we are in fact lying here next to one another, and I see no way of escaping at this moment. Will you at least let me comfort you? You know this is not my area of any sorts, but I think the right thing to do for me now is to put my arm around you. Or is that wrong?”  
It took John some seconds to answer.  
“Your arm won’t reach all the way around me if it’s tied up…”  
Sherlock’s insides boiled. John didn’t hate him. He wanted Sherlock to comfort him.  
“He didn’t tie me up as tightly as I was before. Here you go, best friend.” Sherlock said and put his arm around John’s side and torso. He pulled John into his embrace and kissed the back of his neck.  
“What was that for?” John asked and couldn’t cover up his shaky sniffs.  
“I saw it in that horrible movie you made me watch. I think people do that after intercourse.”  
And to Sherlock’s delight, John placed his hand on Sherlock’s, and they both fell asleep like that. 

***

Sherlock woke the next morning by the movement of his hand. Strange. Nothing in his brain had signalled that his hand was supposed to move. Why was it moving? It was as if it was moving up and down something. Like a pole. A wet pole. Oh no. Sherlock opened his eyes and saw that John was moving Sherlock’s hand up and down his erection. John, however, seemed to be asleep. Sherlock immediately felt his own penis grow to massive heights. What did this mean? Did it mean that John was attracted to him? Or was it merely a subconscious action? But subconscious actions usually came from a place of lust or want. The brain knew it needed it, but the mind hadn’t caught up just yet. Or maybe it had, but was in denial. Oh, it felt so good to slide up and down John’s midsize penis, to feel his wetness stick to his own palm. John started moaning, and Sherlock, with the help of John’s hand, picked up speed. Sherlock emerged into the dream he was living, but then, as if someone threw a bucket of cold water in his face, John awoke abruptly and pushed his hand away.  
“What the hell are you doing?!” he cried, and turned around to face Sherlock. Sherlock was taken aback by this sudden reaction, and didn’t know how to reply.  
“I… you… you’d grabbed… my hand. I just…”  
“What?! You can’t just jerk off other people, Sherlock! You may have enjoyed participating in raping me yesterday, but this I won’t have.”  
“Wh - … Raping you? How can you say that?! You think I wanted that?”  
“Well, you sure as hell seemed to enjoy it.”  
“As did you. After a while. After I kissed you.”  
John hesitated.  
“You… you can’t just do things like you just did though! You frightened me.”  
“I’m sorry. You started it, that’s all. We were both asleep.”  
Sherlock turned away. He didn’t want to argue, he didn’t want to cause John any more pain, even though he most certainly was not responsible for it. How could they possibly resume their friendship after this? He didn’t want to think about what he would do if he lost John. He’d probably just stop living. Not die. Just stop living.  
“John. Who is Daniel Morris? Why is he doing this?”  
“Please, Sherlock. Not now.”  
“It might help us get out of here, I need information, details!”  
“I said. Not here.”  
“Fine.”  
“Fine.”  
Sherlock resented the Berlin wall of coldness that was rising between them. He most certainly hadn’t asked to be trapped in this situation, and it was obviously some dubious history of John’s that had led to this, so why John was so angry with him was beyond his understanding. Being trapped in this maniac’s cell of a bedroom wouldn’t help them reach conclusions or tear down the wall, so Sherlock realised that he needed to find a way out. It took him a couple of minutes before he could think of the simplest, but most brilliant idea possible.  
“John?”  
“Yes?” John’s tone was still cold. Sherlock’s insides were burning and freezing at the same time.  
“John, I need you to let me have sex with you again.”  
“WHAT?!”  
“Please, listen. It’s for your own good. When Morris comes, and it probably won’t be long from now, he’ll make us repeat yesterday’s affairs. He will make me hurt you even more. I don’t know how, but he will. If you let me have sex with you now I can warm you up. Make things not hurt so much when Morris comes.”  
“This is just your perverted way of making a joke on my expense. Just like in the lab in Baskerville.”  
“For god’s sake, John! No! This is not like Baskerville! I’m trying to help you. Please…. Please.”  
“I feel so humiliated, Sherlock…” John said, and Sherlock could hear that he was, once again, on the edge of tears.  
“Don’t be. With me you have nothing to be embarrassed about, or ashamed of. You didn’t ask for this, and I only want to help you. And when we eventually find a way out of here I will personally make sure that my brother castrates Morris. Metaphorically speaking. Or not.”  
With this words John’s body eased and some of the tension in his shoulders disappeared. Sherlock placed one of his tied up hands on John’s now semi erect penis and put three of his fingers in his mouth to make them wet. John gasped as Sherlock’s hand touched him and tensed when Sherlock placed his fingers at John’s body entrance.  
“Relax. I’m not going to hurt you.”  
“I know… Have you done this before?”  
“My experience in the sexual area is limited to yesterday’s… event, but I’ve read several books on anatomy and I’m quite sure how to work this out.”  
“Wait. What? Yesterday was your first time?”  
“Yes, I thought that was fairly obvious.”  
“No. No it wasn’t.” John said, and Sherlock waited for him to say something more, but he didn’t. Instead he relaxed his butt cheeks and Sherlock slowly and gently inserted one of his fingers into John’s tight and probably quite sore arsehole. Once again John tensed and made a tiny squeak, but Sherlock kept his finger still and waited for relaxation until he proceeded. Somehow, this was far more arousing than the experience yesterday. Well, it might not be one hundred percent consensual, but compared to the violent act yesterday this was much better. Was it foreplay, people called this part? The part where the lovers made each other ready and willing? Sherlock could feel his penis rise to full glory and he tightened his grip around John’s. His own was probably double John’s size, but somehow John’s seemed to fit perfectly in his hand, as if he was made for it. Finally he felt John’s arsehole relax around his finger, and confidently Sherlock slid two more fingers into John. He pushed them as far as he could and suddenly John let out a gasp, and Sherlock felt his penis harden to maximum size. He’d found the prostate. Slowly, but steadily, Sherlock moved his fingers back and forth inside John’s tight arsehole, all the time whispering ensuring words in his ear.  
“It’s okay, John. If you want me to stop, I’ll stop.”  
“Don’t stop.”  
“Sure?”  
“Don’t stop.”  
“Okay. If I hadn’t been tied up I would have licked you.”  
“Where?”  
“Where my fingers are.”  
“Oh god!”  
With those words Sherlock withdrew his fingers and inserted the tip of his rock hard penis. He waited for John to be completely ready and then pushed himself all the way in. The feeling completely overwhelmed him. Yesterday had been so brutal, so violent. This was love making, at least on Sherlock’s side. On John’s side it was probably the lesser of two evils. Sherlock looked down and saw the top of his black pubic hair resting on John’s beautiful arse. He watched as his penis disappeared, then emerge again, with soft, slow paces. He couldn’t believe that he was actually having sex with, making love to, John Watson. John Hamish Watson!  
“What?”  
What?”  
“You said John Hamish Watson.” John said and Sherlock stopped moving.  
“No, I didn’t.”  
“Yes, you did. You said my name.”  
“I don’t recall that, John Hamish Watson.” Sherlock said, trying to smooth over his embarrassing mistake. John laughed a bit, and it felt good being able to joke despite of the fact that Sherlock was literally buried inside John.  
“How do you feel?” Sherlock asked, after having picked up speed.  
“It feels good. You can go faster if you want.”  
“Are you… I mean… “  
“What?” John said, panting.  
“Are you sore from yesterday?”  
“A bit, it doesn’t matter. Keep going, please!”  
“Yes, John Hamish Watson.”  
Sherlock picked up speed and after a couple of minutes he felt his orgasm build up. It was crucial that John didn’t come at the same time, so I removed his hand from John’s dripping penis and let him self go and collapse into an amazing orgasm.  
“John, I – I – love… God!!!!”  
After having emptied himself, Sherlock made a fake apology to John.  
“Sorry, couldn’t hold it back.” he said, trying to regain his breath as quickly as possible.  
“It’s all right… Didn’t know you were so fond of God, though.”  
“Oh. Ehrm. Yeah. Religion is a stimulus for people with absolutely no cognitive and rational qualities, and in that precise moment I had neither.” Sherlock said with a cheeky smile.  
John laughed.  
“Now, John. I need to finish you off. And I need to do it with my mouth so that Morris won’t notice what we’ve been doing, is that okay?”  
“What? Are you going to … blow me?”  
“Is that the proper term? Sounds like I’m mistaking you for a tissue. Well, I’m going to put my mouth on your penis and suck on it until you reach orgasm.”  
John exhaled heavily, and Sherlock could feel the uncertainty reach his face.  
“Did I say it wrong?”  
“No…Well, yeah, but… It’s just… No… You may… Go on.”  
“Good.”  
Sherlock bent over as far as he could. The ropes were hurtful around his right hand, but he still managed to get himself into a good position. He looked down on John’s perfect penis, and felt like a hungry child staring at a lollipop. Predatorily he bent down and slid the entire shaft into his mouth. It didn’t take much effort to suck down the whole length of it, and Sherlock was grateful that John was so average-sized. The taste of it was salty, a bit sweaty, obviously, that wasn’t John’s fault, but all in all quite tasty. He let his tongue slide up and down the shaft, sometimes pressing it into the tip of his urethra. He started picking up speed, and as he did so he felt John’s hands grab his dark curls as in desperate pleasure. A short while after John started twisting and not much sooner Sherlock felt his mouth fill with semen. It was extremely arousing. John sent out three rounds of massive releases, and Sherlock could barely hold it all inside. Then John’s body relaxed and Sherlock slid back into his side of the bed.  
“Eh.. thanks…” John muttered. Sherlock didn’t reply.  
Some silent minutes passed while John caught his breath, and then he spoke again.  
“Listen, Sherlock… When… or if we get home… We need to talk about things. Just so you know, so that I’m not scaring you or anything, I just want you to know that eh, I’m not interested in… this. We’re trapped, this is a very peculiar situation… I’ve never… I know you just had sex with me to spare me of pain… This is not…. I’m not… you know… And I dunno if you are… or… but, just so you know… This doesn’t interest me, so don’t worry… I’m just saying… Sherlock… But… You’re still my best friend, and we can go back to our lives pretending this never happened, yes? That is if we ever get out of this mess, all right.”  
Sherlock didn’t reply; he just turned a bit away from John.  
“Sherlock? Will you answer me?”  
Sherlock grunted, but didn’t reply.  
“Did I say something wrong?”  
No reply.  
“Answer me, please. Did I say something wrong?”  
No reply.  
John exhaled heavily and tried to turn closer to Sherlock, but he couldn’t, so he settled with putting his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder.  
“Did I say something wrong? I mean… You said it yourself. It’s a biological response.”  
No reply.  
“Sherlock!”  
No reply.  
“You can’t just suck me off and then ignore me.”  
No reply.  
“Fuck you, Sherlock.”  
John turned away, and still Sherlock remained silent. At that moment the door opened again, and Daniel Morris came into the room. A stripe of light from the hall outside blended them, as they were so used to the melancholic, dim candlelight in the closed room.  
“Well, hello ladies.” Morris said with an evil tone in his voice.  
“Have you slept well? I hope not. As I said I have a treat for you today, Captain Watson. Seeing as Mr. Holmes failed to hurt you properly yesterday we’re going to use this little object today.” He held up a baseball bat and Sherlock shivered.  
“No, please, no, no, no!” John cried, and Sherlock’s insides clenched. Daniel Morris was a maniac like no one else, and he would eventually pay for this.  
“Sherlock, please, please, please.”  
“Did you know, Captain Watson, that this little object can be used both for hitting and for fucking. It’s quite effective in both areas.”  
John cried. He cried loudly, and Sherlock remained silent. He couldn’t open his mouth just yet. Morris moved over to Sherlock and withdrew his gun with the other hand.  
“Now, Mr. Holmes. I’ll untie you, and this time I’ll shoot Captain Watson directly in the head if you try to do any funny business, is that clear?”  
Sherlock nodded and held out his hands so that Morris could untie them. Morris moved closer to him, and just as he was about to bend down to loosen Sherlock’s ropes, Sherlock spat, or rather plunged, all of John’s semen into Morris’ eyes. Morris was completely caught off guard and dropped the baseball bat in order to rinse his eyes. Sherlock seized the moment to dive for the gun, which he managed to wrestle out of Morris’ hand. He picked up the baseball bat and pointed both bat and gun towards Morris.  
“Now, Mr. Morris, aren’t we an unlucky fellow?” Sherlock said with a voice filled with pure hatred. He truly hated the pathetic man in front of him. Hated him for having made him hurt John Watson.  
“I think I may have to shoot you in the leg. That’s called self-defence. After that I’ll call the real Mr. Holmes, I prefer Sherlock to be honest, and he will have his way with you. And his ways are usually tough. John, if you’ll cover your ears, please.”  
And then nothing could be heard except for a gunshot and a man screaming in pain. 

***

“I’ll contact you with interrogation details.” Mycroft said, rolled up the black window in the government car and drove off. Sherlock and John stood on the pavement outside 221B and were free at last. After a short silence they both spoke.  
“I think…”  
“Do you…?”  
“What?”  
“What?”  
“I think I’ll head up to my room.” John said, and hurried inside without a second glance at Sherlock. 

***

John hadn’t emerged from his bedroom all day. Sherlock was pacing around in the flat. Mrs. Hudson had been up, but he’d shooed her away with instructions of leaving him alone that day. When the clock moved close to 11pm Sherlock was sure he wouldn’t see John anymore that day, so he went to bed and lay awake until five in the morning, when he drifted off to an uneasy sleep.  
When he woke two hours later the flat was still silent. Sherlock got out of bed and took a hasty and angry shower, if there was such a thing. He got dressed in his plum coloured shirt and black trousers. He was about to exit his bedroom when he realised that he couldn’t. The idea of pacing around in the flat for even more hours was unbearable, so he just sat down on the edge of his bed and stared at the closet doors.  
The escape from Morris’ place had been easy enough. Sherlock had given John his trousers and jacket, and he himself had exited in just the shirt and underpants. They’d tied Morris up, and then they’d called Mycroft from a nearby phone box. Mycroft had been there in ten minutes, having already been searching for the two of them since the night before. Morris was immediately taken into custody, and Mycroft had promised that there would be no inquiry regarding the wound in Morris’ leg. Yes, the escape had been impeccable. It was the events that led to the escape Sherlock couldn’t get out of his head. Every time he thought about the fact that he had been inside John, he felt a tingling sensation all over his body, especially in his crotch. He just couldn’t help it. It was the ultimate fantasy fulfilled. The meaning of the universe, of his entire existence. But John had hated it. John had been hurt. Humiliated. John wasn’t even homosexual, and if he had been Sherlock was sure he wouldn’t be first in line. Despite the fact that Mary had been a psychotic killer – thankfully John had come to his senses and left her – John usually picked boring women as his dates. Ordinary women who preferred domestic life. Sherlock didn’t represent any of that. He couldn’t provide comfort and peace. And now John wouldn’t even come down form his room. Or would he? Sherlock suddenly heard a sound from the stairs, and then a door opening. He held is breath and listened as John walked into the bathroom and into the shower. Sherlock had left the bathroom door slightly ajar, and he could hear everything that was going on. Perhaps John thought Sherlock had left already. Twenty-two minutes later John turned off the water. Sherlock tensed, but kept staring at the closet doors. Perhaps John would tell him that he’d decided to move out of 221B.  
“Sherlock?” John said, his voice coming from the bathroom door. Sherlock didn’t look at him. The words of pure rejection after the last sexual encounter still lingered like a beast ready to attack and kill, and Sherlock couldn’t defend himself anymore.  
“Sherlock?” John called again.  
“Yes.”  
“Can I come in?”  
“Yes.”  
John entered and in his peripheral vision Sherlock saw that John was wearing his striped bathrobe. He loved John in that bathrobe. It was a large part of his fantasies in his mind palace.  
John stopped half a metre from where Sherlock was sitting, and if the tension in the air between them had been visible they wouldn’t have been able to see one another.  
“Sherlock… Can we talk?”  
“I’ve been wanting to talk since we came back.”  
“Well… yeah…”  
“I need to know, John. Who is Daniel Morris?”  
“Hell… I knew you’d ask.”  
“I think I deserve to know.”  
“Deserve?!”  
“You may think that you’re the only one traumatized here, but if that’s the case you’re incorrect.” Sherlock’s voice was shaking, but he was trying to keep calm. The loss of temper didn’t suit him nor this situation.  
“You’re traumatized?! As if! You weren’t the one being raped! You were the one doing it, remember?!”  
But Sherlock couldn’t hold his temper back. Not with accusations like this. He put his head in his hands and replied louder than he possibly should.  
“Do you think I wanted that?!”  
“It did seem –“  
“Do you think that was how I envisioned we would be together for the first time?”  
“No, I – … Wait… what?”  
This was it. There was no going back now. Sherlock looked up at John and saw, not an angry face, but a puzzled one. John’s beautiful green eyes was staring down at him, and he felt even smaller than he did at John’s wedding. He had to look away again.  
“What do you mean, Sherlock?”  
Sherlock took a deep breath and started talking with a shaky voice.  
“I have told you about my mind palace, haven’t I?”  
“What has that got to do with anything?!”  
“I’m guessing you don’t know how it works precisely. What I do is that I have large-scale rooms, probably on the same size as Buckingham Palace all together, and in these rooms I store information. Mostly important information, facts, things that might come in handy when solving cases. If I ever need access to this information, I simply visit my mind palace and collect it. What you probably don’t know is that I have a whole area of the palace reserved for one thing. Or one person. That’s an area I visit quite often. In it I store, not information, but fantasy. Dreams. Hope. That’s your area, John. I’ve wanted to be with you in that way… sexually… since I ripped off the bomb from your body by that pool all those years ago. When I realised that I could loose you, for real. And… it’s not just… It wasn’t about the sex precisely. It has never even interested me until then, so in order to sort out all these thoughts I built that large mind palace area for you, so that I could visit it in peace. I’ve visited it several times a day and more frequently after you moved back home. So yes, when I saw you lying there next to me in the bed, naked, I couldn’t help it, I was so aroused, so filled with sentiment I thought I might burst. But that wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen.”  
Sherlock exhaled. He was past the point of no return. He was completely exposed.  
“My god… Sherlock.”  
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You’re allowed to move out, if you want to.”  
John moved closer to Sherlock. What? Closer. He wasn’t pulling away.  
John sat down next to Sherlock and put his arm around him. Sherlock felt the warmth of John even through all the layers of fabric that was between them. Hateful fabric. During his whole speech Sherlock hadn’t been able to look at John, and he still couldn’t. He felt naked, vulnerable, like a child whose dog and best friend had been taken away from him forever. Then John spoke with carefully selected words.  
“Daniel Morris was a sergeant in my platoon. He was one of those guys who didn’t take it very seriously. Down in Helmand, we stayed in a camp of sorts, and when we didn’t see the white eye of combat we hung around mostly. Morris still hadn’t seen what the war was really about. One night, after we’d taken to some drinking, he started coming on to me, even though I was his commander and superior. I dismissed him with ease and left for bed, but the next night he did it again. Approached me when I was taking a piss in the bushes, putting his hands on my shoulders, whispering in my ear. “I know what you are, Captain, and I can help you.” This time I dismissed him hardly and hoped that the flirtation would stop. We were in a warzone after all. Three nights later he approached me again, but this time he came into my tent after I’d gone to sleep. He told me that he really fancied me, and seeing as we were both going on a mission the next day he used clichés as the last night of our lives, live and let live, etc. Well, truth to be told, I didn’t know what came over me, but I stood up and told him to get down on all fours and I fucked him then and there. It was rough, it was brutal, but I figured he’d asked for it. It violated all kinds of codes, but… The next day we were sent out, but I made arrangements for him to be left behind, because I didn’t want him around me. Our platoon was attacked, and Morris’ best friend, Henry Dwight, died. I heard Morris was sent home after having had a breakdown or something. It was awful. I was awful. And now, when he came in with the bat, I was sure he’d kill you. Because he’d lost Henry because of me.”  
Sherlock listened with care. First of all he couldn’t believe that John had actually had sex with a man before. Secondly, he felt so sorry for John, for exposing this part of his past to him. Hell, for even having this past as a part of him.  
“You’re not awful.” Sherlock said.  
“Well, I am though. That is basically the reason why I’ve been so stubborn when it comes to my sexuality. I’ve always tilted a bit both ways, but after that I refused to acknowledge that part of me. I felt I was the reason for Morris’ breakdown. But then…”  
“Then what?”  
“Then I met you, Sherlock.”  
Sherlock’s heart raced. What in the world of worlds was John actually saying? For the first time since before his own long speech, Sherlock looked into John’s eyes. They were full of sadness and shame, but there was also a tiny glimmer of hope lingering there. A sparkle Sherlock had never seen before.  
“That day we met… In Bart’s. I was so turned on by you and by the way you looked with that microscope. And then you spoke, and those deductive skills would have had me begging for you then and there if I hadn’t promised myself that I’d never ever let myself tilt to that side again. Ever.”  
They both looked at each other for a long time until they, at the same time, moved even closer and let their lips met. The kiss lasted for briefly four seconds after which Sherlock pulled away.  
“There is something I should have told you, John, but I never really got the chance.”  
“Sherlock isn’t a girl’s name after all?” John joked silently, their lips still very close.  
“I love you.”  
At these three little words, John threw his arms hard around Sherlock and hugged him tightly. Sherlock hugged back and they stayed in that embrace for minutes.  
“I love you too, Sherlock. I was just so afraid. So afraid, that’s all. I didn’t even think you liked these things… You said it yourself at our first non-date.”  
“Well, sentiment was never really my area, but people can change for the better if exposed to people better than them.”  
“You’re much better than me, Sherlock.”  
“Hardly. You’re the better man.”  
“Maybe we can just be each other’s better halves?”  
“Really? Do you want that?”  
“Since the day I met you, Sherlock.”  
And so they kissed again and this time it lasted for more than five minutes, until Sherlock broke apart again.  
“This is just like that god awful crap movie you made me watch. It’s so much cooler in real life, though.”  
“Isn’t it?”  
They kissed, hugged and laughed, until John spoke again.  
But how had you envisioned things to happen?”  
“What?”  
“You said, that in your mind palace, you’ve pictured how your first time with me was supposed to happen. What did you have in mind?” John asked playfully. Sherlock led John up from the bed; no words needed, and made him stand in the middle of the room.  
“Bathrobe off, please.”  
John obliged. Sherlock leaned in from behind and started kissing John’s neck, while massaging his shoulders. He guided his kisses further down the back and towards the buttocks. He started licking them, first the left, then the right. John shivered and let out a tiny gasp. Sherlock started massaging the buttocks gently, then more firmly before he spread them a bit so that the beautiful glory of John’s arsehole became visible. Without warning Sherlock inserted his tongue as deep as he could and John let out a gasp.  
“God, Sherlock! Oh my Christ of lords and Christ Christ Christ!!!”  
“See, we’re both religiously stupid sometimes.” Sherlock teased and stuck his tongue inside again. The sensation of licking John’s insides was almost too much for him and he felt adrenaline and blood rush to his penis. He unzipped his trousers so that it could live and grow freely. He pushed John gently in the back and John fell onto the bed in front of them. Sherlock admired the beauty of the man in front of him and realised that he was indeed the luckiest man alive. Morris was right on that. Sherlock pulled off the rest of his clothes and climbed on top of John’s naked body. He wasn’t going to pursue him just yet. He had the rest of his life to do that. And then it would be one hundred percent consensual.


End file.
